I remained still, watching my father storm around the room. Lessa, Lessa, Lessa, I thought. Her mother had been three-quarters troll, making Lessa almost a full-blood. And a powerful one at that – she was reckoned to be the strongest mixed blood alive in Trollus, and she was worth an absolute fortune on the markets. The Dowager Duchesse kept her more as a companion than as a servant. A certain element of prestige came from owning Montigny blood. This was a multi-angled scheme intended to get at not only me, via Cécile, but at my father. Angoulême was growing bold.

“What do you intend to do?” I asked. My father didn’t respond. His eyes were distant, deep in thought. If he protected Lessa, he would be seen as not only willing to circumvent our own laws, but as willing to do it for his own benefit. But if he didn’t protect her, he would be allowing his rival to send one of our blood to her death, and we would be seen as weak. There were no good options.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Come,” my father snarled.

Cécile entered, but to my surprise, she was not alone. Trailing at her heels was the Dowager Duchesse herself, along with Lessa, Marc, and the twins. Cécile’s expression was cross, but despite whatever injury she had sustained, she felt oddly eager. Everyone else was unreadable. Which made me worried.

Her eyes took in the smashed desk and she paled slightly.

“We heard about your exploits,” my father said darkly. “I assume you are here to make a request of me?” His fingers twitched ever so slightly as he anticipated Cécile’s appeal. The Dowager Duchesse was strangely quiet. What was going on here?

She glanced in my direction. Please don’t ask me, I prayed, then cursed my own cowardice. I watched her reach up with one hand and rub her arm, obviously the source of her injury, her eyes fixed on me for a long moment before she turned her attention back to my father. A message.

“You really ought to arrange for the girl to be educated in our laws and customs, Your Majesty,” the Dowager Duchesse said, obviously deciding to take advantage of Cécile’s silence. She glanced Cécile’s direction, and their eyes met for a long moment. Cécile said nothing. Damia looked away first. Interesting.

“Unfortunate circumstances such as those that occurred between us,” Damia gestured at Cécile, “would not happen if she knew better. If Her Highness were aware of the laws governing the relationship between a troll and her servant, she would have known not to interfere. It is my right to treat my servants in any way I see fit. To dispose of them how and when I choose, if I no longer care to keep them in my household.” Her eyes flicked from Cécile, to my father, to me. She was visibly flustered, and the Dowager Duchesse was never flustered.

Cécile said nothing, only scuffed the toe of her shoe against the marble floor.